Whenever the Last Day Comes
by Malcontent Ash
Summary: It's been over a decade since Bruce donned the cape and cowl, but Gotham is desperate. At seventy years old, Bruce doesn't have time to play things careful or slow. This is his final crusade for justice and people are getting scared. The government calls in their best man to shut him down... Superman. Based on the Millerverse's Dark Knight Returns


Hey, everyone. I'm not sure how many of you have seen The Dark Knight Returns (parts 1 and 2), but I'd strongly recommend it. I found it to be a very believable extension of Batman's chronicles. In order to catch you up to speed on this particular story, there are a couple things you have to know (POTENTIAL SPOILERS):

Bruce is around seventy years old and has been retired for over a decade. Gotham is falling into chaos with a new wave of organized crime called the "mutants". They don't want to negotiate for peace or money or territory, they want to bring Gotham to its knees. The powerful of Gotham are seeking to come to an agreement with the terrorist organization and Bruce is pulled back into the fray. Of course, fighting crime isn't as easy at seventy some years old as it was in his thirties and he's done negotiating. The kid gloves are off and he's ready to cripple and maim if he needs to in order to bring peace to Gotham. He's bringing heavy artillery to the fight and the American Government is having none of it. They send in the big guns—their warrior for peace—Clark Kent with orders to bring back or kill the Batman.

There's a lot more to the movies, of course, but this should be plenty for this story. Thanks for reading!

* * *

Like a God, he descended from the sky, hands held out to the old man standing in a field not far from Gotham city. His hair was longer now and blew in the breeze, ebony cowlicks rippling as he touched down. The old man staggered slightly as he rose to his feet. His knees weren't what they used to be after repeated tears and breaks, overextensions as he moved like an acrobat on a body builder's frame.

"Bruce," Clark spoke a little louder than he needed to, uncertain of his friend's condition but respectfully allowing the man to approach him.

"Clark." He didn't look much older than the day Bruce met him. The only real change was in his eyes. Where they had once been crystal clear, serene and gentle, now there were sharper edges, creases from age and duty.

"You know why I'm here," Bruce's eyes were slightly clouded, but it was clear that he was all the detective he once was, if not more.

"Because _they _sent you," he accused. Where the Batman had once been cold and aloof, carefully manipulating strategy and odds before starting a fight, the anger and resentment now burned much closer to the surface.

"It doesn't have to be this way. Just lay low and let all of this blow over," Clark's tone was pleading, but his eyes still held all the sharpness from before.

"Is this part of your orders? Did they sent the world's strongest metahuman to talk down a single old man?" The wind blew hard over the open ranch where Bruce had been caring for his horses. He had opened the ranch almost a decade ago as a way to keep himself busy and his mind off of the mission. It had worked for a while, but as the situation in Gotham deteriorated, he found it necessary to hire a couple ranch hands for when he was back in the city. Clark could only sigh, trying to ignore the tightness in his chest. "If I roll over to you, the government lapdog, what do you think happens to Gotham?" Bruce turned and studied the dark forms of Gotham skyscrapers on the horizon.

"It's not your fight, Bruce. You've done what you could, and frankly you're starting to scare people. Let the government handle it." Clark could hear Bruce's heart rate quicken slightly as he simmered.

"Like they've been handling Quarac? From what I understand, they've had you pretty busy stirring up their own war with the USSR."

"That's different! We—Look, I didn't come here to fight," Clark's hands twitched and he curled them into gentle fists.

"Then stop talking," Bruce stood his ground as Clark grabbed his hand.

"I didn't come here to say goodbye either…" he whispered into Bruce's neck, nosing the coarse grey hair.

"I'm sure you'll get another chance soon." The bitterness was clear, but the harshness had left his voice. He tilted his head, pressing a cheek to the dark silky hair.

"And what about the little girl?" Strong hands snaked around Bruce's thicker middle. Accepting the embrace, his rough hands shook only slightly as they held onto the broader, studier shoulders.

"I thought you didn't want to fight," Bruce murmured, his lips moving against a sensitive ear. Clark tightened his embrace, heart aching at the way the skin gave easily to his touch. These shoulders which had once been plump and firm, now hung lower, bowed slightly with weariness. He had always figured Bruce to be the strong one. Even now, he felt like Bruce should be telling him how everything was going to work out and what he needed to do to set things straight. He felt stronger than ever, clinging tight to delicate frame, but his heart had never felt so weak. Bruce was ready as ever to take on the world, but how was he supposed to take on Bruce?


End file.
